


Back to Normal

by Mando-Chicken (Sincognito)



Series: Phoenix Squad Works [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Brother-Sister Relationships, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Burns, Fluff, Gen, Medical Procedures, only mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23839942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincognito/pseuds/Mando-Chicken
Summary: Clone Trooper Thrasher has finally been released from the hospital after sustaining terrible burns to his face, chest and arm, and is eager to finally get back to his brothers and his Jedi Commander. It seems that finally, everything will get back to normal for the members of the Phoenix Squad now that their wounded brother is on the mend.A fic introducing a few character dynamics and with the prompt of what they do on a 'day off'. Not quite what the prompt was asking, but I had an idea and ran with it, so accept my offering of fluff. Unedited and unbeta'd, we die like men.
Series: Phoenix Squad Works [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717831
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Back to Normal

Thrasher was over the moon to have finally received the all clear from both the base’s doctors and their squad medic, Drover, to be fully discharged. He hadn’t yet been placed back onto active service, assigned to only simple duties with a large amount of rest time in between, but just being able to step outside of the clinical exam rooms and medical wings that stunk of bacta was enough to greatly lift his spirits. Although he couldn’t quite call the air of Coruscant fresh, it was a great deal nicer than the sterile med bay he’d been confined to for weeks on end.

As a blaze trooper, Thrasher had experienced his fair share of burns in the past – his skin was littered with little white and pink patches of skin, and his brothers were in much the same state – but the explosion of his flamethrower had been the worst by far. The right side of his face all the way down to the tips of his fingers were covered with patches of grafted skin, and it was sometimes difficult for the trooper to feel things with his hand if he touched it too gently. His face was in quite the state, but he’d never really thought himself much of a looker in the first place, so he wasn’t overly concerned with his new appearance.

His hair, however, was in quite the state. Usually, he kept his red hair firmly braided, but since his stint in the medical wing it had been flowing freely to the point where it now tickled at his back. He’d managed to somewhat tame his wild locks with a comb, and while he could have braided it himself he decided that it would be best to allow his Jedi Commander the chance to do it. Although their squad hadn’t been working with her for long, Thrasher had quickly learnt that Kaleesh were well known for braiding their hair, and Trysta was able to wrangle his hair into quite beautiful styles when he gave her the opportunity.

Hair braiding also seemed to help calm her nerves, and with how antsy she had been with him in the hospital he suspected she’d appreciate being able to run her fingers through his hair and confirm that he was, indeed, back in reasonable shape. She had explained once that her culture was heavily seeded with battle and the art of war, and that brothers in arms were near enough equal to actual family. It explained the deep respect and care she showed to the troops – while she was still a Jedi and thus could not take joy from violence and killing, she also understood the importance of having the chance to prove oneself in the glory of battle – she could relate to them intimately in that regard, and had seemingly already decided that the Phoenix Squad were her kin.

Deathroll, Thrasher’s batcher and closest friend, had been the first to accept the idea, all to eager and excited at the prospect of adding a _jetii_ to their vast mass of siblings. The rest of the squad were slower to accept her invitation at familial bonding, as they had seen how many of the Jedi fought, holding back their abilities and reluctant to even step foot on a battleground. Their General was much that way, trying everything in her power to avoid an actual fight, only giving in to violence at the last possible opportunity.

But Commander Sheelal? She was constantly in the thick of the fight. She always led the charge, twin lightsabers ablaze while her master hung back to relay strategies her padawan. She carved through their durasteel enemies with vigour and a feral grin only just hidden beneath the fearsome bone mask she wore. The thrived where most Jedi were at their weakest, ploughing through masses of droids and leading men as though she’d been born to do so. That was how _jetiise_ had been described to the clones when they’d been young, as fierce warriors who could stare down a thousand enemies and still emerge victorious at the end of the day.

The rest of the squad had eventually followed Deathroll’s lead and accepted this padawan as part of their _aliit_. They did not trust other Jedi easily, but their Commander was an exception they were willing to make.

While Thrasher had been recovering in the hospital, Trysta had visited him often, bringing him news of their latest battles and helped him to fall asleep when his aches and pains were keeping him awake. Of course, there was only so much time a Jedi could spend sitting around and chatting in a med-bay, but she would often curl up in one of the nearby chairs with a datapad she would study from – learning important information for her Knight trials she had told him – and although they didn’t speak much on those days, her presence was comforting.

He was most pleased when he’d found that his brothers and Commander were all spending some of their leave time in one of the training rooms near the hospital, so Thrasher didn’t need to walk far to find them when he was finally free from doting nurses and stressed doctors. He’d still have to deal with Drover potentially hovering around him, but from what Thrasher could see, the medic was slouched over a datapad, his usual scowl in its rightful place.

Fisher and Arson were on either side of one of the training mats, circling one another like wolves, before the younger clone lunged and their fight began. Deathroll was off to the side, leaning back against a nearby crate with the slightly smaller form of their Jedi Commander leaning against his side. She seemed to be dozing for the most part, her ears twitching and following the sounds of the two clones as they trained, but she otherwise remained still with her eyes closed and her head resting on Deathroll’s shoulder.

Deathroll had the tendency to call their Commander his _vod’ika_ , despite the numerous times they had all tried to tell him that she was, in fact, twice his age. He’d argued back that it was more in regard to her height than her age, and Trysta had seemed to be rather endeared when they’d explained what it meant, so somehow the name managed to stick. Thrasher could see it now though, with their Commander looking so small and fragile, snuggled up to the clone’s side.

Arson was the first to notice him, pausing in his fight with Fisher the moment he noticed his approach. Unfortunately, his momentary lapse in focus had given the captain and opening, and the poor trooper was struck across the face with a solid right hook before twisting to sweep his legs out from under him. “Ow,” was all Arson mumbled, face down on the mat, not bothering to move from his position.

“Something got you distracted, vod?” Fisher asked, glancing behind him and finally seeing Thrasher. He grinned, abandoning Arson to his mat-eating fate and jogging towards his squad mate, slapping a hand on Thrasher’s healthy shoulder. “I didn’t hear that you were getting released, Thrash’, you should’ve told us, we’d have come to you rather than making you search for us.”

Deathroll turned to regard his batcher, his face lighting up in excitement. The action, however, displaced the sleeping Jedi and she jerked awake, her ears perking in surprise while she glanced around in confusion. “Thrasher?” she asked, eyes practically sparkling a vibrant yellow when she spotted him. She shifted to the side, allowing Deathroll to escape from her, watching as the trooper leapt to his feet to go and greet his brother.

Thrasher couldn’t help laughing when Deathroll crashed into him at full force, enveloping him in a crushing hug, “easy, ‘Roll, I’m not completely healed up.” His brother released him with a rather sheepish look, easily shrugging at him with a briefly muttered apology. “And I thought you guys knew, Drover gave me my final check-up earlier today, I thought he told you.”

Fisher fixed the medic with a glare more deadly than the flamethrower attached to his wrist, huffing when Drover simply shrugged, “Thrash’ got discharged this morning.” He stated, looking back down to his datapad in disinterest.

“Thanks,” Fisher deadpanned, moving aside so that Thrasher could join the others in the small huddle they’d formed beside some crates. Arson had managed to crawl his way from the mat and over to Drover, flopping down beside the medic and complaining about the absolute agony inflicted on him by the captain. His words fell on deaf ears with Drover not bothering to look up from what he was reading.

Thrasher easily nestled himself in beside the commander, with Deathroll coming to sit at his opposite side and the captain sitting across from them all. “Glad to have you back, Thrasher,” Trysta hummed, already weaving her digits into his hair and beginning to redo the lines of braids he was missing.

“Thanks, Commander.” He turned his body so that his back was to her, allowing her easier access to his hair, “At least I can rely on you, the Captain and ‘Roll to welcome me back.” He turned his gaze to Arson and Drover, jokingly giving them both a pointed look.

“I’ve had to put up with you moaning about being sore for the last month, ‘s not like I haven’t seen you recently,” the medic grumbled out, offering him only a glance to show his acknowledgement. Drover wasn’t exactly known for being touchy-feely, but deep-down Thrasher knew he cared, he wouldn’t have spent the last month glued to him, constantly checking up on him every spare moment he had if he didn’t.

“And what’s your excuse, Arson?” Fisher asked, watching as the youngest among them rolled onto his back, only turning his head to regard the other members of the squad.

“Thrasher distracted me and now my face is broken,” he pouted, aghast when Thrasher simply snorted at his alleged suffering.

“It’s not broken you _ik’aad_ , I swear you whine worse than the men who’ve lost limbs,” Drover growled, not bothering to even look at the blonde.

Arson made a scandalised gasp, clutching his chest in mock hurt, “wow, Drover, I thought you were a good _ori’vod_ , but apparently you don’t care that your poor _vod’ika_ is dying.” He made an even louder gasp when Drover simply replied with a “yup,” and continued to ignore his plight.

Thrasher couldn’t help breathing out a content sigh, leaning back against his Commander slightly as she continued to run her hands through his hair. The feeling was immensely calming and being surrounded by the familiar banter of his brothers was filling him with a sense of calm that he hadn’t felt in over a month. He had missed his family – they might have visited him regularly, but it wasn’t the same as actually being beside them – and he couldn’t wait until he was finally back to normal so he could continue to bask in the warmth that radiated from just being around his _aliit_.

With luck, everything would be back to normal soon. 


End file.
